File Under Dead

by Mark Richard Zubro

“Promise you’ll call me.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “How was talking to the police?”

  “That’s how the thing with my dad started. He ragged on me last night after we went to the police station. He started in on me again before breakfast this morning. He wanted to know how I knew anything connected with murder. I could have tried to lie, but I’m tired of lies. I wanted him to know the truth. I wanted him to know that I could make decisions. That I could be honest. That I wasn’t just some big dumb kid.”

  “Your dad thinks you’re a big dumb kid?”

  “He rags at me constantly about my grades. He always puts me down. He calls me stupid. He laughs at me. He wouldn’t let me be in any help programs when I was a kid. He said they were all dummies in those classes. Well, I am a dummy. I needed help, and I didn’t get it.”

  “Do you want help now?”

  “It’s too late.”

  “No, it isn’t. You could work out tutoring things with people from the clinic.”

  “Then they’ll know I’m stupid, too.”

  “Getting help isn’t stupid.”

  He hung his head for several moments then muttered, “Well, maybe. I’m afraid of my dad. He’s three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than me. He was a linebacker for Michigan State. He thinks gay guys are sick.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Yeah, a lot.”

  We talked until I was as sure as I could be that he wouldn’t hurt himself. At the end I asked, “Can I get you to talk to one of the counselors?”

  “I’m not going to kill myself. Don’t worry. I promised I’d call.”

  I said, “It’s important that someone talk to the guy you were with.”

  “I know.”

  “It’ll have to be soon. I’m sorry to push you into talking to a guy who’s backing off, but it’s necessary.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to him. If he won’t see me, I’ll give you his name.”

  He left. In the normal course of events, I would have reported the conversation to Lee. I didn’t think Larry needed to be on a suicide watch, but I thought it was best to be careful.

  19

  Karek had set up my meeting with Mandy Marlex for noon. I heard her before I saw her. A motorcyclist roared up to the café on a black Harley Davidson. Before shutting it down, the driver revved the immense motorcycle to its loudest possible roar. A diminutive figure stepped off. At first I couldn’t tell if the rider was male or female. The driver unzipped a leather jacket, and mostly unclad mammary glands appeared. The helmet came off and soft blond hair cascaded to her waist. I thought it was a little precious that a woman barely five-feet-two was riding a motorcycle bigger than she was. The black leather pants and black boots were set off by a pink cashmere torso-hugging garment under the leather jacket. The bit of cloth clung in ways that I didn’t usually notice. If I was noticing, then her figure was truly remarkable.

  Karek had described Marlex and her motorcycle to me. I met her just inside the door and introduced myself. Up close I could see well-concealed lines and furrows on her face. She was nowhere near as young as her biker persona pretended her to be. In another Sucaryl-drenched precious bit, when we got to the table, she swung her leg over her chair, sat down, and began to plunk helmet, goggles, gloves, and scarf on the marble top.

  She ordered tea and biscuits—the British cookie kind of biscuits, not the American biscuits-and-gravy-breakfast kind of biscuits. Her soft, mellow voice came with a downeast Maine accent. She said, “Billy Karek suggested I talk to you. He says I could give background on Charley Fitch. I love it that his employees called him Snarly Bitch.” She did a flip of her blond hair with her right hand. It struck me as an affectation, just like Jan’s. Maybe they were related. Or maybe she had an uncontrollable arm/flip twitch. Maybe not.

  “How well did you know Charley Fitch?” I asked.

  “Since college. He was not a pleasant person back then. His family was rich. He was putting in his time and getting his paid-for degree.” She snorted. “He never even graduated. I think I saw him studying once. Charley’s had it easy his whole life.”

  “Did that bother a lot of people?”

  “Sometimes, but I don’t picture that as a motive for murder. That is what you’re doing here, looking for a motive for murder? I assume you must be. What with your famous lover I’m sure you feel entitled to ask questions and presume the rest of us will simply answer them. How does being rich qualify you to stick your nose in where it doesn’t count?” I swallowed several nasty retorts about her rudeness. I’d see if she could be of any help and then retort in kind if the moment warranted it, and if she was worth the effort.

  While I was irritated, I knew I was basically an amateur sleuth who had to rely on the goodwill of the people I was talking to. I swallowed most of my ire and said, “I’m simply helping out a friend. I imagine you’ve done that before, helped out a friend in a tough spot. Is that so hard to believe?”

  She fiddled with her helmet, toyed with her tea, rearranged her glove, scarf, and goggles. Then did the hair-flip thing again.

  “Why should I help you?” she asked.

  “If you help me, you help Billy Karek.”

  “You presume I want to help him.”

  “Don’t you? He gave me you as a reference. You aren’t a friend of his?”

  “An acquaintance more than a friend. We have worked on a bunch of projects together. He was more ideological than I. He always had to come up with a fresh argument in favor of or against a point. He kept thinking up new reasons to be negative. He got me on a few talk shows. I guess we agree more than we disagree politically, but it’s presumptuous to extrapolate from that that we are friends.”

  “It’s not much of a stretch.”

  “We’re certainly not enemies.”

  “Did he and his sister get along?”

  “They did have occasional quarrels about money. Even in college Charley was a spender, not a saver. Of course, with that much cash, why bother to save? They certainly never fought to the point of murder.”

  I asked, “Can you give Billy Karek an alibi for Friday night and Sunday morning?”

  “Did he say I could?”

  “No.”

  She asked, “Where were you then?”

  “Asleep in bed.”

  “And can you prove that?”

  “No.”

  She said, “I was having sex with my partner.” Another hair flip.

  Good for the two of them. I wasn’t ready to give up, although a few more of those hair flips and I might call the Annoyance Police. I asked, “Do you know anyone who would want to kill Charley?”

  “Lots of people disagreed with him, but I can’t imagine it was over anything important enough to kill for.”

  “Disagreed about what?”

  “Tons of stuff. Maybe the Pride parade is the best example. The lewd behavior and foul language at that thing are a disgrace.”

  “Which parade? New York, LA, here, or someplace else?”

  “All of them are embarrassments.”

  “To whom?” I asked. “The hundreds of thousands of people who come to watch? The several thousand who are in the parade? Is someone counting obscenities? If so, why? Don’t they have a life?”

  “The parades around the country are our largest single public event. People should behave. And no, I don’t want everyone in business suits. I want to be represented by normal people. You and your lover qualify.”

  “I thought you were pissed at us because we’re rich.”

  “You’re normal in a non-capitalist kind of way.”

  I wasn’t sure that made a whole lot of sense, but I avoided sounding annoyed. I said, “I’m getting frustrated. I thought Karek gave me your name because you were a friend of his who could back him up. Either I seriously misunderstood him, or he is clueless as to the real nature of your relationship.”

  “Billy’s kind of dense. He’s so naï
ve about the way the world really works.”

  “And how is that?” I asked.

  “Greed. It works on greed. Give people what they want or what they think they want and they’ll be happy.”

  “Is that what someone did to Charley, kill him to fill their acquisitive impulse?”

  “Probably not.”

  “What about your fights with Charley?”

  “They were never violent. Never. I knew when to back off. So did Charley. I think Charley never got as angry with me as he did with others because I’m a woman. He didn’t take me seriously. He said several times that I was an illogical woman. I was dismissed out of hand.”

  “You didn’t find that frustrating?”

  “You think being treated like that is odd for a woman? We all have to put up with that kind of shit. Karek’s the one who got violent publicly.”

  “Billy Karek said that you and Susanna Fitch were lovers in college.”

  “And that has something to do with what?”

  “A former lover getting even?”

  She smiled. “You must be desperate. If that wasn’t such a pathetic piece of analysis, I’d be pissed.”

  “Former lovers have been known to be angry.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I’m not.”

  “Karek gave me Albert Bergland’s name as well.”

  “I think Charley was actually close to Albert. They were boyfriends at some point.”

  “Karek didn’t think they were close.”

  “Wrong again for Billy.”

  “Did Charley have a boyfriend recently?”

  “I don’t remember any boyfriend, not in a long while. I wouldn’t know about any kind of sex, for that matter. We weren’t sexual confidants. The thing with Albert was over years ago. Albert didn’t commit murder. He doesn’t have the temperament.”

  “I think all of us have violent thoughts.” For example, I had no intention of actually tying her by her flipped-back long blond hair to the back of her motorcycle and driving off at ninety miles an hour, but it was a tempting thought.

  She said, “Maybe you’re projecting. But most of us don’t act on our violent impulses, and I have a witness and an alibi.”

  I asked, “Do you know of any enemies he might have had?”

  “His whole staff. Everyone who worked at that clinic past and future. They hated him. Mostly he hated them, too.”

  “Didn’t he do the hiring?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So who’s fault was it that so much hatred existed?”

  “I suppose it was mutual. Charley would go on and on about them, and he could be very funny, but he wasn’t a good judge of people. He just wanted to do some good in this world, and he had the money to make the attempt.”

  I said, “Maybe cash isn’t everything.”

  “In Charley’s hands it wasn’t.”

  She reclad herself in her motorcycle regalia and swaggered out to her machine. Before she drove off, the violent revving continued for an impressively annoying length of time.

  20

  I had an appointment that afternoon set up by Daisy Tajeda with Charley Fitch’s sister. She lived in Lake Shore Drive East, one of the high rises between where the Lake Shore Drive S-curve used to be and where Lake Shore Drive currently is. The security guard called up to ask if I was to be admitted.

  I didn’t hear the answering voice, but I was told to go up.

  Susanna Fitch had short hair, weighed three hundred pounds, and wore a black jumpsuit.

  The plush condo had high ceilings with ten-foot-by-ten-foot abstract paintings on every wall I saw. The artist must have gotten a special deal on red, because he or she didn’t seem to have used any other color. We sat in low swivel chairs with a view north toward the Chicago River.

  I said, “Thank you for agreeing to see me. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She said, “Thank you. I know your name. You found him. I’m so sorry. And I’ve seen you on television with your lover. Did you know Charley?”

  “Not well.”

  “Charley was a good man. I loved him. And to die in that horrible way.” She shuddered. “All the money in the world can’t change what’s happened, but I’ll spend whatever I need to make this less painful. This whole mess has got to be cleared up.” She shook her head. “I’m still numb. Charley was trying to do a lot of good. Helping gay kids is so important. Daisy Tajeda asked me to meet with you. Walter Truby mentioned you as well. I know you’re being considered for interim director. They both said you were a good person who might have some questions. I’m not sure I’m up to a lot of questions.”

  “I’m flattered by their interest, but I’m not going to take the job. Being a school teacher is plenty enough for me. I know this is a tough time, but my friend was arrested. I’m trying to find out information that would clear his name and help find who killed your brother.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be able to help. I don’t know who the killer could be.”

  “Did Charley have any enemies?”

  “Oh, my. I suppose you’re referring to those ugly rumors about employee dissatisfaction.”

  “I saw some of that dissatisfaction firsthand.”

  “I don’t listen to rumors. I guess there might have been some truth to these. I never heard there were any fights that became personal.”

  “Many of his employees and most of the volunteers referred to him behind his back as Snarly Bitch.”

  “Well, people often snipe at bosses.”

  “Somebody could have gotten angry enough to get even.”

  “I don’t know those people. I don’t want to know those people.”

  I said, “Mandy Marlex claimed you and Charley had disagreements about money.”

  “Mandy and I were roommates in college. We were lovers once. She’s quite bright. She has no animosity toward Charley.”

  “What about toward you?”

  “After the initial break-up we became friends. We’re not as close as we once were, but that’s more due to separate paths in life, not old lover’s quarrels. Mandy and I haven’t been close in a long time. Her knowledge is limited. Charley and I disagreed occasionally. Charley’s eyes were always bigger than his budget. You’re not suggesting I had a motive for murder?”

  I was, but I figured a yes answer would get me pitched out on my ass. I said, “Mandy didn’t impress me much.”

  “She doesn’t impress anyone. While we were breaking up, I wanted nothing better than to stop her doing that stupid hair flip. Ripping it out from the roots seemed appropriate.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I asked, “Do you know of any particularly strong political enemies Charley might have had?”

  “Charley was a confronter, not a calmer. I don’t know who really took any of that seriously. To me, it was just a bunch of little boys fighting over a very small piece of a political pie.”

  “Did he have close friends? Maybe if I talked to them, they might have a notion if he’d quarreled with anyone recently.”

  “Charley had a lot of contacts. I’m not sure he really had a lot of friends.”

  “I understand your brother’s financial records at the clinic were being investigated.”

  “I think it would have been an excellent thing for there to be an investigation. The board never took any formal vote that I was aware of. I didn’t go to many of the meetings. Charley attended all of them. They wouldn’t have voted such a thing with him there. After I heard the rumors, I talked to a few of the board members privately. I was pretty angry at first. Nobody would admit to anything. I know Charley did nothing wrong. An independent investigation, open or secret, would have proven that my brother had done no wrong. Only now that he’s dead are these accusations starting to surface. Those vultures had to wait until he died so he wouldn’t be able to challenge all that baseless bullshit. I told him about the rumors. He dismissed them. He knew he had nothing to hide.”

  “Maybe he should have taken them seriously.”


  “Are you saying because he didn’t, he was killed?”

  I thought that was a bit of an overreaction on her part. I said, “I don’t know why he was killed.”

  “I agreed to see you because justice needs to be done. I agreed to see you because Daisy said you’re the one who has knowledge. You’re the one that people talk to. You’re the one the kids trust.”

  “Do you think Lee did it?”

  “Him I know. I don’t think Lee would have the balls to kill anybody. I don’t think he’s got the brains god gave to a demented termite. The guy is a wuss. But the police arrested him. They must have a reason.”

  I swallowed several snappy rejoinders, especially the one about rudeness being an inherited genetic trait in their family. I figured I still needed her good will. She also had the heft to wield an ax. She could be the killer as well as anybody. I said, “I was told you didn’t have anything to do with the clinic.”

  “Charley ran the day-to-day operation.”

  “But you’re on the board.”

  She said, “I’ve never crossed the doorstep of the place. I’m on the board to protect the family’s interest, which means the family money.”

  “Did it need protecting?”

  “Charley could spend money like a trooper. His personal habits were fairly spartan, but the money he plowed into that clinic was enough to start his own third-world country. He did not have unlimited access to the family money. All the different projects he wanted cost a bundle. He really had to do fundraising for that clinic. By no means did he get a free ride.”

  “Who did he have the biggest fights with?”

  “Just the big ones?”

  “I’ve been told the little ones were innumerable.”

  She said, “If you’re going to talk to people, you could start with those homocons. The rivalry for the gay market’s money in this town has been intense. It seems every other week some do-good group was having a fundraiser in a wishfully posh hotel not quite in the most fashionable part of town.”

  “Do you know of any personal animosities?”

  “Mostly all he had were personal animosities.” She thought for several moments, then said, “Some were worse than others. Karek and his lover were awful to him.”